


The Guide

by primeideal



Series: Changelings [3]
Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate, Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: Animorphs-typical speciesism, Animorphs-typical weirdness about disability, Book 13: The Change, Ensemble Cast, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:35:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23044870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primeideal/pseuds/primeideal
Summary: With his health fading and hisshormannoyingly faithful to the Force, the last thing Baze needs is to be saddled with a pair of fugitive Hork-Bajir. The galaxy, or at least Yoda, has a weird sense of humor.
Relationships: Chirrut Îmwe/Baze Malbus
Series: Changelings [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1497245
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	The Guide

My name is Baze-Malbus-Tashu.

If you are an Andalite, you will know the significance of the Tashu nameday. You will know that I was born near the turning of the year, when the great _nifdaren_ trees spread their needles in the south and the _okani_ migrate along the river.

But war has changed me, and it will change the galaxy. It is possible that if these files are ever made public someday, some of the people who read it will not be Andalites. And life is no longer as simple as saying that I was born on Tashu, on the Andalite homeworld, many years ago. Because here and now, on the planet called Earth, I have been made anew.

* * *

<Freedom is my only cause,> I recited. <Duty to the people, my only guide. Obedience to my prince, my only glory. The destruction of my enemies, my most solemn vow.>

I did not know the name of the Yeerk who had shot down Chirrut. When _Rogue One_ was attacked above the skies of Earth, nearly every Andalite warrior was slain, either in the aerial assault or on the ground below.

Somehow, I had survived. Survived and reunited with my _shorm,_ my partner in and above gravity. But his tail had been mangled irreparably in the crash.

It was my duty to avenge him. But how, when every Controller might have been the guilty party? When my health might be even more precarious than his?

<I, Baze-Malbus-Tashu, Andalite commander, offer my life.>

We each recited our own names. Myself, Chirrut, and Jynerso.

Chirrut was a believer. He would have gladly performed the ritual even if he was the only free Andalite in light-years. Even if he had nothing but a bloody stump to hold to his throat in contemplation. He trusted in a mystical Force that interwove the galaxy, as near and as alien as Zero-Space. It was hard for me to share such faith, even if I had seen and spoken with a Yoda.

Jynerso, I suspect, was more like me. We carried out the ritual not because we always believed every word, but because we needed the familiarity in the voices of others. Believing herself to be the only survivor, she had latched onto a primitive alien “Prince,” preferring to follow orders rather than give them. I did not feel like I needed the young humans’ guidance, but I clung to tradition nevertheless. What would we be if we let new technologies uproot us? Scarcely better than the Kelbrid, who made war just to show that their weapons could fire.

Chirrut rose from his reflection, pacing along the river and peering across with his eyestalks. <The _illsipar_ has almost flowered,> he noted. <Soon we can plant its seeds and eat the original plant.>

<It will be an honor to break fast in such distinguished company,> Jynerso answered carefully.

A lie, of course. Jynerso drank with us and ate the Earth grass every day. They were talking around me, hoping I would live long enough for the _illsipar_ root to bloom. On the homeworld we would have had more than enough to eat without disturbing the seed plants.

But we were far from the homeworld. And while _illsipar_ could ease the pain of _Soola’s_ Disease, it would not be a cure. Nothing on this planet or another could spare me from withering away from the inside out.

* * *

I have spoken with computers many times in my career. The Dome Ship’s computers were sophisticated designs that would respond to our thoughtspeak with advanced language processing. This allowed officers to communicate with each other and issue orders from anywhere on the bridge, rather than being limited to rudimentary touch-screen input.

But no Andalite I knew had dared to believe one could, or should, create _sentient_ digital beings. Were we like the ancient gods, to create self-awareness in a vacuum? How could our algorithms compete with the millennia that had slowly allowed time for minds like our own to evolve? Even the Yeerks, evil as they were, were the product of natural selection—not a higher intelligence’s programming.

Yet Earth held more secrets than the humans and their counteroffensive. The mysterious Chee, too, dwelled there. Which is how I found myself in the unprecedented situation of taking advice from a robot who had a personality of her own and could critique our ideas.

“The Yeerks know you’re out there,” said Chee-vonil, who the humans called Ellie. “They don’t know how many Andalites, and—we hope—don’t know about _any_ of the humans. But they’re getting more vigilant about their entrances.

<Are they improving their Bio-Filters?> I had asked her.

“No, I mean, forcing Controllers to use the same entrance and exit every time. So they’re not constantly changing location—you can’t follow the same one to five different places.”

<So we need to identify a variety of Controllers, to tail them separately.>

Her holographic form produced a shrug. She then provided us with a list of somewhat prominent humans she knew who were members of “The Sharing,” the Yeerks’ cover organization. Several were employed at a bank. A bank is a human institution for allocating resources and access to goods in a somewhat arbitrary way.

<Is there any connection among these people?>

“Well, they’re better-known than a high school sophomore,” she said. “It’d be harder to explain if something happened to them.”

The Chee, much to my frustration, are as resolutely pacifistic as they are marvels of engineering. Though I believe that Ellie and the others share a desire for the Yeerks to be dissuaded from this planet, it is difficult to consider her a full ally.

Yet I could still fight. Even if my Andalite body would be somewhat conspicuous in human society, I had acquired several morphs that would let me blend in. The wild goose is not nearly as colorful as the _kafit_ bird, and only has one pair of wings, but it is ubiquitous in many land areas of Earth. Jynerso and I had acquired the same goose, and we did not attract notice as we flew in close formation. Geese, in fact, often migrate in sizable groups; perhaps the humans could find some of their own, and we could scout together.

Or perhaps not. For all their willingness to adapt, human children should not have been on the front lines of our war.

<Bryant has been in her office for the last hour,> Jynerso reported as we monitored the bank. <If there’s an entrance there, she won’t be using it any time soon.>

<We should remorph,> I counseled her, and we retreated behind a large container that humans use for disposing of food. In our Andalite bodies, the waste would be easy to ignore. At worst, the odor might be slightly distracting. But I would not want to chance turning into a human there. The human urge to eat all manners of food is very overwhelming. My human allies tell me that certain types of edible objects are not actually fit for consumption, but I suspect that is a cultural bias.

Jynerso was no _estreen_ , but she demorphed and remorphed quickly, balancing on thin hooves as her wings resprouted. Myself, I resisted the urge to latch onto the waste receptacle with my tail. My nerves trembled, heavy and exhausted, before I could become a goose again.

<Do you recommend we return to the bank?> she asked diffidently. She was only an _aristh_ , accustomed to taking orders.

<Perhaps not,> I said. <The area around the recycling plant is already undergoing construction. It would be easy to disguise an entrance there.>

We took off and made our way east. I did not know the city well, but human streets and buildings were of little concern to me. I scouted the landscape with a fighter pilot’s vision.

But then I pulled up. We were not approaching the recycling plant.

Instead, we had flown almost all the way to the forest, not far from where we had build our makeshift scoop.

* * *

<Is this the correct route?> Jynerso asked politely.

<I presumed so,> I said. Was I already blind, unable to make my way above the alien terrain?

Surely not. The DNA of the goose was healthy, and Jynerso had had no issues using it. And I was equally sure I had not lost my wits.

<Chirrut!> I called. <There may be hostile holograms being projected. Be on your guard.>

Thoughtspeak is limited by distance, just like light or sound wave transmission. Were Chirrut to be on the homeworld, I could not reach him via telepathy—otherwise we would already have alerted the Electorate to the dreadful situation on Earth. But in rare cases, _shorms_ who are companions of the body as well as the spirit can sense each other across a planet, far beyond the range of other friends or comrades. From our youth, Chirrut and I have had such a bond.

<Do you trust the Chee’s information?> he relayed back.

<No,> I admitted. <But we do not appear to be in imminent danger.>

<Let me know if I need to create a diversion,> he said. <I can tear up grass with the appetite of three.>

Jynerso had quietly alighted on a nearby bush. It was solid: either the real thing or a very well-behaved hologram.

<Vonil and Kalra do not seem to have the ability to project an entire city,> Jynerso pointed out.

<Either that, or they’ve never needed to.>

We might have hovered there until we needed to demorph, unsure where we were or how we could have been misled. But moments later, we saw movement in the undergrowth, and did not dare assume it was just a hologram. A Hork-Bajir!

It was running, sprinting deeper into the woods. I quickly alerted Chirrut of the danger. <Be ready to flee.>

<You cannot think they’re after me?> he asked.

<Chirrut, much as I admire your faith in your fellow creature, this is not the time—>

<The Yeerks sent an entire unit to build a human installation here,> he interjected. <They would not send a lone assassin against our blades.>

<There are two of them!> said Jynerso. I pivoted to see the second Hork-Bajir, taller but moving more slowly.

<Can you demorph?> I asked. <Isolate the straggler, and I’ll take out the big one’s eyes.>

I asked rather than demanded. Jynerso had put her trust in the human child Leia rather than me, a mere Commander. But even so, I was reluctant to send her into danger when I feared to attack on hoof myself.

Yes, I feared. That I would lose my footing in battle. That I would be felled, not by the Hork-Bajir’s blades, but by my own decaying body.

<What is the status?> Chirrut asked. <Shall I alert the Changelings?> That was what the human morphers called themselves.

<As much as two Hork-Bajir might make a disturbing precedent, I do not think humans would react well to seeing an Andalite run through their streets,> I told him.

<Why don’t you warn them?> Jynerso suggested. <I can deal with these two.>

For an _aristh_ , she had seen much of war, in grueling conditions. Yet I was shamed—it should not have been up to her to offer me an escape. A way to avoid stumbling in the fight.

I hesitated. And then—

Humans, emerging as if out of the ground. Armed with cruel and inefficient human weapons. Perhaps a dozen or two. More Controllers!

<Chirrut,> I said, <this may be the squadron you feared.>

<They’re not after us,> Jynerso blurted. <They’re after the Hork-Bajir!>

<Yeerks killing Yeerks?> I said. <Good. Let them do our work for us.>

<War has never been that easy,> said Chirrut.

We still had time in morph, and we would be dangerously outnumbered against the humans. <Follow the Hork-Bajir,> I said, not waiting to see if Jynerso would join me.

As I gained on them, I realized she had been right. The Hork-Bajir were not making a methodical search of the forest. They were running from something.

<Where are you?> I called.

<Near the place where the drilling-birds nest, below the tree that looks a bit like a _tortav_ _i_ ,> answered Chirrut.

That was too close. The Hork-Bajir would gain on him, and his mangled tail would be unable to strike back. Or worse, he would try to use them as a bargaining chip, and not even expect them to cut him down.

<Hork-Bajir!> I called. <Are you running from the human-Controllers?>

They paused. “Wicket run!” called one. “Wicket _irnith_ , go go!”

I was not thrilled at them possibly indicating their position to their pursuers—but they were Hork-Bajir, I reminded myself. What choice did they have? <Follow the goose.>

And they followed me, away from Chirrut and Jynerso. I scanned the terrain, looking for somewhere to hide. They would fit in a cave, if not comfortably. And, if they wanted to attack us, there was only one way out.

<This way.> I dove through some ferns, as the forest floor was torn up behind me by the Hork-Bajir’s loud talons. <In here, and stay quiet.>

I tried to get my bearings. I only had a little more time in morph, and I had no guarantee of being steady enough to remorph quickly. The human-Controllers had spread out. There were only a few coming our way, but that was still a few too many. If I demorphed, and tried to lead them in yet another direction—

_Fwapp! Fwapp! Thud!_

A tree wavered, toppled, and crushed the oncoming human-Controllers beneath its hefty weight.

<I hope that was not a sacred tree,> said Jynerso, leaping over it in her Andalite form. <But it gave its life for a worthy cause.>

* * *

“So you find Hork-Bajir on the run,” Lando Calrissian repeated. “Fleeing from human-Controllers. You guide them to a cave. And...that’s it?”

The human children had come to the forest to meet with us. It is impossible for Chirrut to travel to them unobtrusively; his body rejected the _Escafil_ device, so he cannot morph for stealth. Thus, when they wish to confer with us, they must come here.

The humans are brazen and do not understand how strange it is to trespass on the privacy of a _vecol_. But many things are strange in war.

<That is it,> said Jynerso.

“They haven’t tried to run away?” Han Solo asked. “To get back to the pool?”

“Clearly they aren’t safe at the pool,” Leia Organa pointed out. She was the one who Jyn regarded as a Prince.

<Maybe they’re not Yeerks,> Chirrut said.

“Free Hork-Bajir?” Han blurted. “How would that happen? I mean, the Yeerks keep them in cages too, right?”

“Not all of them,” Leia said. “Some are voluntaries. Maybe they just wandered off, and...”

“And nobody thought to shoot them?” Lando said. “Yeerks are lazy, but they’re not _that_ lazy.”

<We could at least speak with them,> said Chirrut.

<It should be us,> I added. <Us Andalites, I mean. With no disrespect, the Yeerks do not know your identities. If this is a trap, we do not wish to reveal you.>

“That makes sense,” said Leia. “We can stand guard in morph.”

“Jyn,” said Luke Lars, “you said you were flying over the city, and then you were at the forest? Just like that?”

<We must have gotten tired,> said Jynerso. <Or distracted, misjudged the distances.>

“Do you think that could be a Yeerk illusion?” Leia asked. “Moving you somehow?”

<The tree I felled was entirely solid.>

“Holograms _can_ be solid,” said Lando, who regarded himself as somewhat of an expert on androids. Compared to the rest of us, that might even have been true. “But if the Yeerks had them, I think we’d know.”

“Maybe it’s not Yeerks,” said Luke. “Maybe it is free Hork-Bajir!”

<Hork-Bajir are not a very technologically advanced species,> I noted. <I do not think they could mount an escape on their own.>

<They weren’t shooting or flying fighters,> said Jynerso. <Just running.>

“Okay,” said Luke. “So...somehow they avoid the guards, I don’t know. Maybe there’s some issue in the pool that the Darths have to handle. And a couple involuntary Hork-Bajir take advantage of the situation to sneak out.”

“You’re jumping to conclusions there,” Leia said. “If we think there’s some issue, we should try and get into the Yeerk pool to see for ourselves.”

“No, no, no,” said Han. “When has any plan that begins with the words ‘sneak into the Yeerk pool’ been a good plan?”

“Or ends with them,” Lando pointed out. “Or has them in the middle somewhere.”

“Okay, okay,” said Leia. “Then I think Chirrut is right. If the Andalites want to, they should talk to them.”

Diplomacy with Hork-Bajir. Imbeciles at best, isolated Controllers at worst. But as much as I yearned for the simplicity of piloting, we did not have the luxury of choosing all our battles. Besides, the glint in Chirrut’s stalk eyes told even the humans he was ready.

The humans took up morphs near the cave entrance, but set back some distance. Leia’s coyote prowled and sniffed near the tree. It had not been moved since Jynerso chopped it down, but the bodies beneath had been cleared out.

<Hork-Bajir!> I called. <Where are you?>

<They wouldn’t have left, would they?> Jynerso fretted. <Even Hork-Bajir wouldn’t try to sneak out, on a strange planet...>

I considered her point. Controllers might have taken the initiative to slip away. Yet this pair had followed us obligingly. It was some evidence they were freed. Some.

<Hello?> Chirrut called.

Then he darted inside.

Instantly, an enormous blade flashed alongside him. I leaped to his defense! But it would have been an uncomfortably narrow opening even for two healthy warriors, never mind a _vecol_ and a quivering _Soola’s_ patient.

<What are you doing?> came Han’s voice. <Get out!>

He did not need a rank to speak the obvious. Turning my stalk eyes to cover my retreat, I bounded out of the cave, Chirrut a step behind. The Hork-Bajir—it was the faster of the two from the other day, I thought—followed after.

<Stop it!> yelled Han. He was a bull, which is a large Earth creature that superficially resembles Andalites, but is much less complex. <Break it up.>

“Hruthin,” said the Hork-Bajir. “Andalite. You fight Wicket?”

<Wicket?> Chirrut asked. <Is that your name?>

“Wicket Warrick,” he said, thumping his chest with a bladed hand.

<I am Chirrut-Imwe-Doye,> he said amiably.

<Do not give him our names,> I said privately. <And certainly not the humans’.> Yeerks know everything their hosts do; if this Wicket was a Controller, the Yeerk inside him could imitate a Hork-Bajir’s simple-mindedness perfectly.

<There was another Hork-Bajir with you,> Chirrut pointed out. <Are they well?>

“Elder Logray old. Tired. Not fight strong.”

<We are not here to fight,> said Chirrut. <Not unless you are a Yeerk.>

“Wicket Warrick hates Yeerks!” railed the Hork-Bajir. “Hate! Wicket is free!”

<How did you get free?> Chirrut asked. He might have been passing on the question from one of the humans, but I’m sure we were all wondering the same thing.

“Wait in Yeerk pool. Yeerk eat. Then Father Deep, he say, _go!_ _Follow Elder Logray. Go, be free!”_

<Father Deep?> Chirrut asked. As if this was a xenoanthropology course and he were fascinated about Hork-Bajir theology.

<Do you feel safe here?> Leia asked us. <Could you take turns standing guard? If we don’t see them leave in three days, we know they’re not Controllers.>

<Two days,> Luke pointed out, <they can’t have gone anywhere recently, we’d know.>

<It would be my honor,> Jynerso responded.

<That wasn’t an order—> Leia began.

The other Hork-Bajir had slowly made his way out of the cave. He towered over even Chirrut and me. “Father Deep, from old story. Terror in his voice, but strong too. _Go_ , he says, _go with Wicket. Find stranger. Go and be free_!”

<Chirrut,> I said cautiously, <the Yeerks are voices that speak in their heads, too.>

<And you have never heard a terrible voice speak to you, my flower?> Chirrut replied.

<Ask if they need any food,> said Han. <Can’t be great being stuck here.>

<What do Hork-Bajir even eat, anyway?> Lando asked. <I assume the Taxxons have first pick of all the blood and guts.>

Chirrut relayed the message, and it was the slower Hork-Bajir—Logray?—who spoke. “We strip bark from tree. Take at night. Yeerks not see.”

<They’ve been here to remove the—the bodies,> said Leia. <Can they recognize the bark? Do they know they’re here?>

< _Bark_?> Lando asked. <You’re telling me that these things are herbivores?>

<Where do you want to go?> Chirrut asked.

“Wait for stranger,” said Logray. “Father Deep say. He bring us green place.”

<This,> I hissed to Chirrut, <is definitely your problem.>

* * *

We spent the next two days watching outside the cave. It was boring. I did the rituals alone or with Jynerso, while Chirrut took the night shift. I could always rely on him to respond to my thoughtspeak across distance, but separated by half of the Earth day, not even my _shorm_ could touch my dreams. No one could.

Or so I thought.

I was by the river, tending the _illsipar_ , and it took me a moment to realize that this could not be reality; I was actually just outside the cave. I willed myself to wake up, but in the dream as in everywhere else, my body failed me. I trembled as the world blurred and my fur distorted, only to find my dream-self was morphing a bird.

I resigned myself to whatever my subconscious had in store. Better to be at the mercy of restless neurons than a Yeerk rooting through my memory. I took flight above the Earth river, past the city, and then over a mountain range—was that there in reality? I angled myself and glided over rockfalls and crevasses. And suddenly, the hills dropped off to reveal a lush valley, the trees as thick and deep as any Guide Tree, the grass tall and filling.

_Wait for stranger. He bring us green place._

I woke with a start, to the chattering of Chirrut nearby. Rather than a _shorm_ ’s intimacy, though, he was still babbling to the Hork-Bajir. <We have old trees, too. Old and tall. I have never tried to eat one, though. I suspect I would lose my balance.>

<Stop it,> I said to no one. <Stop manipulating me. If you’re going to use me, at least have pride and show yourself.>

And then the cave, the strange Earth trees, the dry grass, all vanished.

I was standing in a swamp, near the edge of a odorous mud pit. The air was warm and humid, and the ooze below me tasted foul. Yet all around me the planet teemed with life. Snakes draped from trees, insects bounded between lily pads, and thousands upon thousands of unseen microbes coexisted in symbiosis with their neighbors.

A creature strode towards me. He looked the same way he had the last time I saw him: small, with green wrinkled skin and long ears, standing on only two legs like a human, gripping a staff nearly as tall as he was. I had no doubt he could have come in another guise if he wanted, subtler than any hologram.

“Want to see me, you do?” The Yoda—a Yoda?—gave a small laugh. “Good it is to use your eyes. Yes.”

My eyes. I felt healthy here, if “here” meant anything. My vision was clear, my legs strong. <What do you want?>

“Have pride, he says. Hmm! Baze-Malbus-Tashu, you were a Commander once. Took orders from Prince Obiwan, you did. More orders, do you wish?”

<You are not my prince.>

“True, true. The human Leia? Your Prince, is she?”

<I have no prince, no subordinates, no chain of command.>

“Your _shorm,_ there is. And Jynerso.”

<I am in no state to give orders to an _aristh_.>

“Even less, the Hork-Bajir have. One young warrior, one elder. Yet it is yourself you pity?”

Who was he to speak to me of pity? A Yoda, who could reach across the galaxy in one stride? <You set them free. You led me to them. Why can’t you guide them your enclave?>

“Hmm.” He tapped his staff against the mud. Suddenly, the swamp was gone, and we were overlooking a spaceship as it approached a planet. It had the elegance of one of our holo-displays, but on the Yoda’s scale, a real solar system might have been just as small as the model. “Beyond this sun, the ship is bound. Yet it travels away, to this world. Why does it retreat?”

<It’s a gravity flyby,> I said. <Any child could tell you that.>

“Laws, there are, that rule the universe. That bring balance to what we can and cannot do. So it is with the Force. And with me.” The starfield faded, and we were in the swamp again.

<And am I the inert planet? You use me, dip in and out of my gravity, and I get nothing for it?>

“What do you want, Baze-Malbus-Tashu?”

How dare he ask, as if he did not know? I fought the urge to swear or to lash out with my tail. My blade could do nothing here—and what was blasphemy when a Yoda stood before me?

Yet in the vision of the swamp that was not, I held my silence, and thought. The answer that came to me was not one of honor or duty. There was no Electorate on Earth, no one judging me for my selflessness. But the love of my _shorm_ overcame everything, even my own weakness. <I want Chirrut to be healed.>

“His own battles, he will fight. What of _you_?”

<No games,> I said. <I told you the truth. Now you tell me something true.>

“Truth?” said the Yoda. “Seen my visions, you have, and known them for truth. Another vision I will give you, hmm, and a true one. How you use it, that your battle is.”

<Another vision?> I asked. <Of the Hork-Bajir? Of the mountains?>

But the Yoda was gone, and I was on Earth again. <Baze, is that you?> Chirrut was calling. <I’m sure it’s been two days. These are free people!>

<Yes,> I said grimly. <I am sure.>

* * *

<Go with the birds,> said Chirrut. <They’ll help you find the green place.>

Wicket eyed him with what appeared to be skepticism. I couldn’t blame him. “Friend Chirrut not help?”

<I would like to help protect you. But I need to stay here.>

“You hruthin,” said Wicket. “You morph.”

I suppressed a reply. Escafil had invented a stunning new technology in the cause of a horrific war. But to the Hork-Bajir, the morphing ability was as characteristically Andalite as tail-fighting or the wish-flower rituals.

<I cannot be part of this fight. But I will give thanks for you with each morning ritual.>

Logray seemed to decide that this was a fair trade. “We go.”

<You don’t need to join us,> I told Luke privately, as I began to follow the path I’d seen. <You didn’t have the—vision.>

An earth seagull, he took off from a nearby bush. <What if the Yeerks make trouble? You’ll all want someone to watch your back.>

<You can’t remorph in front of them!>

<Then I’ll warn these guys.>

<I can send word to Chirrut from anywhere on this planet,> I said.

<And what’s he gonna do, gallop over to Han’s house and interrupt his video game?>

I bristled, but he had a point. Young as they were, these children knew their planet well.

Logray was chanting some kind of sing-song melody in the Hork-Bajir language. I didn’t bother to stop him; if any human got close enough to hear, we’d have more serious problems. Wicket paused to glance at every new species of bush or insect or reptile across his path, but only briefly. Even he understood the urgency of our mission.

Every once in a while he would ask Logray something, and Logray only snorted. Finally, the older Hork-Bajir paused, and nudged a small Earth creature out of the way with his enormous talons. “What this?”

<It’s an Earth animal,> I said. <Not sentient.>

“Name of what?”

<I’m not sure. I’ve never acquired one.>

<It’s called a frog,> Luke said. <You don’t have frogs where you come from?>

“Logray know the little _ruliru_ and the _nishva_ , make flower bad to eat. We have no _stemp_...no one jump like Earth frog.”

“Frog is free,” said Wicket.

<Yeah,> said Luke. <I don’t think a Yeerk could fit in that little guy.>

“Wicket is... _fintav_ ,” said Logray, as if he were apologizing for a misbehaving child. “Is new.”

<It’s fine,> said Luke, who clearly understood no more of that than I did.

“He not... _kelsha orro_. Not know homeworld. Not free. Logray born free.”

<He’s been a Controller his whole life?> Luke blurted. <How does that...never mind.>

<Our time is running low,> I said. <The valley is not far, but the climb will be steep. You should take cover and remorph.>

<Baze,> said Luke, <no offense, but either we find this valley of Yoda’s or we’re all Taxxon lunch. I don’t think the Hork-Bajir knowing my name is a risk at this point.>

It was not my place to disagree. He had his own Prince, his own duties. <As you wish.>

Myself, I fluttered to the ground in front of the Hork-Bajir. The goose’s instincts were surprisingly placid on land; ven birds were accustomed to ground level, on occasion. More importantly, I had no wish to try landing half-demorphed. <Hold on a moment,> I warned the Hork-Bajir.

“We rest,” said Wicket, crouching down as if looking for more frogs.

I returned to my own body, my legs clenched in pain. My stalk eyes could pivot freely, but their vision was poorer than the goose’s. Poorer, I thought, than it had been when _Rogue One_ still flew.

What did it matter? The Yoda might find it funny to tease simpler creatures and then disappear, but I would not sink to his level. Concentrating on the bird once again, I let my fur blend into its wings.

The Hork-Bajir did not notice my ailment, but they had found something more curious to regard. “You _nengkir_!” Wicket gaped, as Luke stood on human feet. He was also wearing the thin outfit that accompanied him when he demorphed. Humans in this part of Earth strongly prefer to wear artificial skin and fur when they are in public. Since their homeostatic body temperature is higher than the typical climate, they need layers to keep warm. They also have many social conventions attached to wearing the appropriate sort of “clothing.” “You Earth folk!”

“Yeah,” said Luke. “Some of us, my friends and I, we’re humans. Please don’t tell the Yeerks.”

“Wicket kill Yeerks,” he said. “No talk! Kill.”

<Hopefully it won’t come to that,> I said. For all the trouble that the Yoda had taken to show me this valley, the least he could do was prevent the Yeerks from finding it too.

That confidence lasted about fifteen Earth minutes.

* * *

<Baze?> Luke called. <Uh, maybe don’t tell the Hork-Bajir, I don’t want them to freak out, but we’ve got company at 3:00.>

<Three o’clock?> I echoed. <It is 4:53 your time. We have one hour and forty—>

<No, no, on your right. Taxxons.>

I hovered, looking down to spot the tubular forms trying to conceal themselves amid the rocky hills. <Go! Chirrut will warn the others—>

<You sure? I mean, I can take a couple of these creeps.>

I seethed. It was not enough for Jynerso to pity me in my weakness; this human child had to as well? <The Yoda showed _me_ where to go. I will lead them.>

<If you say so,> said Luke, making a wide turn and slowly descending.

<Stay back,> I warned the Hork-Bajir. <There may be Earth predators.> Perhaps I was patronizing them, but if I had been tasked with minding them, the least I could do was not watch them die.

“What predators?” asked Wicket. “More frog?”

I prepared to demorph again. If I could not avenge Chirrut, at least I could die on my hooves.

But before I even landed, the Taxxons were pivoting away. Down the hills, stumbling over each other in a race for fresh blood. Was this another of the Yoda’s “gravity assists”? Could he only interfere once we were in mortal danger?

_Fwoosh!_ A leopard slashed one of the Taxxon’s mid-section, and its fellows ignored the cat to begin scavenging their comrade. Another blow, and more scattered as they spread out to feast. Without the fearsome Darth III goading them on, even the Taxxon-Controllers were easily distracted.

<Haha!> Lando crowed. <Easier than dominoes.>

<You baited a squad of Taxxons away from us?> I marvelled.

<Technically,> he said. <I had help.>

<Help?>

<We got Ellie to tag along. Since they were only looking for two Hork-Bajir, she showed them falling off the edge and these guys came to finish them off. She’s chewing me out for, uh, chewing these guys out, but I don’t know what she really expected.>

It turns out that the Chee can, in fact, project a very large hologram when the need arises.

* * *

“Good bark,” said Wicket, carving into a tree in the secluded valley.

“ _Turvul hos_ ,” said Logray. “No bad, no good.”

It was the younger Hork-Bajir’s first taste of freedom, I reminded myself. Anything would be rich, compared to captivity, even if it was not from a plant he had evolved to savor. <Good. There will be plenty to eat, if you stay close.> They knew the danger of the Yeerks as well as anyone. Surely even they could understand that they could not leave the valley. I didn’t know how to explain it any better, not without sounding like I was condemning them to another prison.

“Baze-Malbus-Tashu come back?” Wicket asked.

<I don’t know,> I admitted. <I’m...sick. Not well. And the Yeerks are still out there.>

“Baze-Malbus-Tashu need home,” said Logray. “Need your _ekarashi_.”

<My home is a long way away,> I said.

“Chirrut-Imwe-Doye is on Earth.”

<Yes,> I said. <My _shorm_ is here.> Even a Hork-Bajir could understand that.

So I made my way back to the river, to what served as our scoop as best it could. Andalites had once been herd animals who thrived in the open plains, I reminded myself, but I had found joy and purpose in small enclosed fighter craft. If I could adapt there, I could endure on Earth.

But that night, I dreamed of the homeworld. Not mobilized for war, but with Andalites of all ages cultivating flowers and trees in the rhythm of peace. The faces I saw were unfamiliar, and at first I wondered if this was a vision of the past, or what might have been had it not been for Quigon’s Kindness.

And then I saw change. Not a metaphorical shift from one way of life to the other: bodies literally changing shape before me.

A short-furred female slowly grew pairs of _kafit_ wings in time with an acoustic instrument. It sounded like a human cultural tool, for the pleasure of people with ears. She was dancing, in a way, controlling the morph to delight spectators, then just as elegantly returning to her Andalite shape and becoming an Earth creature not unlike the frog that had amused Wicket.

A male walked about with stalk eyes spread out and downcast, in a posture of humiliation. Children pointed in derision at an orange sheath he wore on his tail. Was he a _vecol_ like Mertil, whose disfigurement was not worthy of public view?

I listened in on their thoughtspeak as one explained to another. <That is War-Prince Tarvosi, the disgraced. He attacked a Kelbrid moon without justification, and now he must wear the blade-bound.>

<I saw a _hirac delest_ of the ancient princes,> another child said skeptically. <Did they really cut off the blades of the insubordinate?>

<Yes,> said the first.

<Couldn’t they just morph back?>

<They didn’t _have_ Escafil devices! Once your blade was lost, it was _gone_.>

The second child stared incredulously while I watched Tarvosi walk past, avoiding the shame of the others.

Some kind of junior officer was speaking to two civilians. Perhaps a captain who had taken on different responsibilities in peacetime. <Where were you on the last Benais nameday?>

<At the human embassy,> one answered. <They had sushi.>

The other one registered her agreement, as if this was a perfectly reasonable explanation. I made a note to ask the humans what sushi was.

<Do you know of anyone, other than your parents, who shares distinguishing DNA with you at the two-sigma level?>

<Yes,> she responded. <I was an egg donor when my friend Kivaso-Lumiln-Hoibend wished to have a child. His son is named Atanes-Lumiln-Pragor.>

<Thank you,> said the captain. <We may be in touch.>

A criminal investigation. Someone had left DNA at the scene, but it clearly didn’t match hers. Had the population controls been reinstated?

No, they were asking at the _two_ -sigma level, not necessarily a guarantee of close kinship. _Frolis_ maneuvers must have been so commonplace that they were used by common civilians, even lawbreakers.

I woke, and knew the Yoda was not promising me victory. When he had first appeared to the humans, he had shown them a potential future of Earth as it might be after Yeerk conquest. Yet they had seen through his cryptic wording, and realized that he was trying to show them how to effect a change without breaking whatever rules bound him.

Humans’ facility with new technology was impressive, particularly the juveniles whose brains had not yet reached maturity. Less than a hundred Earth years before, their species had built their first heavier-than-air flying machines. Three decades before, they had travelled to the Earth’s moon. Now they were making scientific breakthroughs that might point the way to independently discovering Z-Space technology, if the Yeerks didn’t enslave them first. The Changelings had matter-of-factly come to terms with the existence of aliens.

Next to them, we Andalites were slow, set in our ways. Yet already the war had changed even long-held traditions. The population controls had been lifted, and women like Jynerso had enlisted at unprecedented rates. Escafil had given us a double-bladed gift, yes. But someday, when we were at peace— _if_ we won—the technology might spread beyond its military applications. It could be used by heinous people, civilians and otherwise, but it could also be used for art. Was it so strange that it might be a medical tool, as well?

I had envied my colleagues who had died honorably with _Rogue One_. But Obiwan had survived longer than we knew, and broken the law of Quigon’s Kindness to boot. Chirrut lived, and I could not pretend I was not grateful for that, even as he was.

I stroked his cheeks as he came awake, first soft caresses, and then holding them for a moment. Holding his gaze, all four eyes meeting mine with curiosity and wonder.

<If we ever see the homeworld again,> I said, <any dishonor I may have incurred in survival will not be among the top ten questions the Electorate has for me. Maybe not the top hundred.>

<Have those Hork-Bajir given you something to fight for?> he asked. No judgment, just amusement at my change of heart.

<It was the Yoda, actually.>

<As I’ve always said,> he said. <The Force of others is always with you, whether you trust in it or not.>

For the last time, I concentrated on the new DNA within me, and began to morph. Chirrut was smaller than I had been, his fur paler. I had a tail, of course, narrower and more agile than before. My hearts shifted, reformed, settled into place.

Chirrut’s faith in the Force did not accompany his body. Whatever one called his mind or soul, his individual imprint beyond the innate Andalite optimism, that remained his alone. But I did not need his spirit to find balance and purpose in my new form.

<If I do say so myself,> Chirrut said, <you are a very handsome fellow.>

There was so much he wanted to watch me do with a healthy body, readjusting to a new center of gravity—grazing, sparring, racing, more—I was not paying attention when the second hour passed.

* * *

<I couldn’t find the valley when I was flying,> Jynerso complained. <The Yoda must have hidden it very well—Chirrut?>

Her stalk eyes flickered to my tail, then back. <Not exactly,> I said. My thought-voice, Chirrut had assured me, was still my own.

Jynerso looked me over again, skeptical. <It’s all right,> I went on, <you can chastise me even if I’m not in your chain of command.>

<No!> she said. <Of course not! I—it’s nice to see something go right.>

<I won’t be able to go on missions that require sneaking through the human world,> I said. <I’m afraid that will place more of a burden on you and the Changelings.>

<That’s fine,> she said. <I mean, it’s my duty.>

<You mean, I would not have gone on any further missions if I had died of _Soola’_ s disease,> I said.

Apparently this was also too blunt for the _aristh_ ’s sensibilities, as she averted her main eyes uncomfortably.

<Never mind,> I went on. <Chirrut will have a more eloquent explanation as to how this is the will of the Force, surely.> Even she let her eyes twinkle with humor at that. <As for the rest, we will see.>

<Will you join me in the morning ritual?> she said formally.

<Of course,> I said, walking over to where two half-reflections of myself met my gaze: my own face in the water below, and my _shorm_ ’s next to me. <For the freedom that unites us...>


End file.
